


Rearrangement

by CalicoCatMom



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: ...and of course more about triangles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Finding Purpose, Gen, Pre-episode s01e10 The Price of Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoCatMom/pseuds/CalicoCatMom
Summary: Pythagoras has always wanted to become a healer and a mathematician, but he keeps being rejected everywhere he turns. What can he do when the Oracle says his destiny does not lie with his dreams? Can Daedalus and Icarus help him to rearrange his thoughts?





	Rearrangement

Pythagoras hurried home from the agora, maneuvering through the streets as fast as he could with his arms full of bread, cheese, olives, and vegetables, plus a pie for his friend and housemate Hercules. Today was the day he should hear back from Ixidor, the healer whose apprentice Pythagoras hoped to become. He did not want to miss that message. 

Most apprentices were young boys just entering adolescence, but Pythagoras hoped that Ixidor would see his additional knowledge and experience as an asset. How he had dreamed of becoming a fully trained healer! Until now, however, there had simply not been any opportunities in all the years he’d been in Atlantis after leaving Samos. There weren’t that many healers in the city to begin with, and not all of them taught their craft. Apprenticeships with those who did generally went to their sons or nephews. This was the first time he had learned of a healer without a current or prospective apprentice. His other housemate Jason had encouraged Pythagoras to write to Ixidor right away, so he had.

Hercules had barely opened the door of their little house to admit him before Pythagoras burst out, “Has the message from Ixidor arrived yet?”

“No, not yet.” Hercules was already going back to whatever he’d been doing. “Did you remember to get a pie?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes, I did, and it’s still hot.” Pythagoras deposited his food purchases on the table. 

“Don’t worry. You haven’t missed your message,” Jason assured him. “It’s still early.” He added the bag he was carrying to the pile of provisions accumulating in the center of the room.

Pythagoras then realized what his two friends were doing. “You’re packing? What’s going on?”

“A job,” Hercules replied. 

“The one Chrysostom the merchant approached us about yesterday?”

“Yes,” Jason confirmed. “We’ll be guarding a shipment of his best incense going to the Temple of Apollo at Delium. He’s got the caravan organized, and we just received the final instructions while you were gone.”

“When do we leave?” Pythagoras asked. If he got the apprenticeship, he’d have to postpone starting -

“Pythagoras…” Jason quietly interrupted.

Something in his friend’s tone made Pythagoras stop. “What?”

“Chrysostom has hired Hercules and me,” Jason told him gently. “He’s decided it’s too dangerous a journey for someone who can’t hold his own in a fight. We did speak up for you, but honestly, he’s right. Think of it this way: you’ll be able to settle into your apprenticeship and get loads of work done on your triangles without us underfoot.”

“It’s too dangerous?” Pythagoras echoed incredulously. After all their adventures together these past months, Jason and Hercules were now leaving him behind? 

“You’ve never been to Delium,” Hercules responded. “I have. The city itself is all right, but we’ll have to go past several particular havens for robbers and cutthroats in order to get there. The last one is the worst. Delium is right along the seacoast, not far from a cove infested with the most bloodthirsty pirates you could ever hope to avoid. For some of these, my friend, a skinny little thing like you would be their favorite kind of victim, and you really don’t want to know for what. It’s not worth the risk.”

Pythagoras gulped but still felt indignant, combined now with concern for his friends. “And you’re going into this without anyone along with any knowledge of the healing arts?” he returned. He’d meant to put some acerbity into his voice, but instead it came out sounding rather plaintive.

“There will be a healer with us, named Kratos.” Jason answered. “No one doubts how brave you are, Pythagoras, or how loyal. But for where we’re going, Chrysostom needed a professional healer who can also handle a sword.”

Pythagoras deflated. He knew Kratos by reputation. By all accounts he was good at his job, but he didn’t teach apprentices. He also strongly believed in vigorous exercise for maintaining health, and took his own advice in the form of swordsmanship training. Under the circumstances, Pythagoras had to admit that logically Kratos was a better choice than himself for Chrysostom’s mission.

“It’s nothing against you,” Hercules added. “It’s just that this operation is no place for someone who can’t defend himself.”

“We’re sorry, Pythagoras,” Jason continued. “I’m sure that by the time we get back you’ll be blissfully immersed in your studies and thoroughly impressing Ixidor.” He clapped Pythagoras on the shoulder.

Pythagoras managed a wan smile.

Jason and Hercules finished packing and left. Pythagoras closed the door behind them. His gaze then fell upon the empty dining table. His housemates had taken with them all the food that Pythagoras had just bought. Sometime soon he was going to have to scrape together a few more coins and make another excursion to the market. 

 

When Ixidor’s message arrived, Pythagoras’ heart thrilled with joy; the healer had agreed to meet him. He flew out the door immediately.

The man who received Pythagoras into Ixidor’s practice was gray-haired and a bit stooped, but sharp-eyed and wiry. “Ah, a new patient,” he said. “I am Ixidor. Come and sit down here. Tell me your name and then your symptoms. We will need to find out in what way the four humors are out of balance in your body.”

“I’m actually not a patient,” Pythagoras replied. “I’m Pythagoras. I got your message, and I would very much like to become your apprentice.” 

Ixidor peered at him in disbelief. “You’re Pythagoras?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, no-no-no, this won’t do. Apprentices are young boys! I thought you’d be about twelve or thirteen years old, probably an ambitious orphan since you wrote to me yourself, but you’re a grown man!”

“Well, yes, sir. I thought perhaps my experience might be an advantage. I studied for years with an herbalist back on Samos, and I’ve been studying on my own here ever since. I can show you what I know. I would need less supervision than a traditional apprentice, and I could be an effective assistant to you right away instead of having to learn the rudiments first.”

“Correcting any bad habits you may have would be more difficult than teaching rudiments.” Ixidor shook his head. “I thought I’d be dealing with a prodigy, not a dilettante.”

“A dilettante? No, I assure you, this is not a passing fancy. I’ve wanted to be a healer almost my whole life. There simply haven’t been any opportunities for an apprenticeship.”

“From the look of you, I’d say the time to become an apprentice would have been about ten years ago or so. I promised that I would meet with you, and I have now done so. Good day to you.” The healer turned away.

After a moment Pythagoras somehow found his voice to ask, “Is there another healer who might want the kind of apprentice I could be?”

Ixidor’s back remained toward him. “No. The others I know that teach already have apprentices – proper apprentices. My advice to you is to go find yourself another line of work. Goodbye, Pythagoras.”

As Pythagoras trudged home, he allowed the scroll Ixidor had sent him to drop from his hand. He heard it clatter on the stony street, and did not look back. 

 

What was he going to do now? Pythagoras collapsed into the chair by his desk. He ran his fingers through his bright red hair, then thumped his elbows on the desktop and buried his face in his hands. That, it seemed, was that. He would never become a healer. He could still study and continue to help people using what he knew, but there was so much to medicine that he could not learn by reading, and he would never have the respect or job stability that healers attained. Anything he did would always be unofficial, and unregarded.

Glumly he opened his eyes, and his gaze fell upon the sheet of papyrus pinned under his arms. It held his latest mathematical venture. If his love for the healing arts was unrequited, Pythagoras at least still had mathematics, which he loved just as much, in his life. Ixidor had said he should find himself another line of work, he remembered bitterly. Maybe he could turn his ambitions in that direction. Mathematicians didn’t need apprenticeships. They needed a reputation resulting from valued achievements and students who wanted to learn from them. 

Pythagoras reread his incomplete mathematical proof. Ah! Suddenly he saw it: the next step that had eluded him earlier! From there he could see the next one too…

Hours later, he rechecked the finished proof and found it sound. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was a breakthrough! It was beautiful! He couldn’t wait to share it! Pythagoras carefully wrote it up in the form of a letter, as was customary for mathematical discourses, ostensibly addressed to his friend Daedalus, the person he knew who was most likely to be interested. He could give it to him tomorrow.

By the time he’d made another copy for himself, it was late into the night. Pythagoras realized he hadn’t returned to the agora to buy any food, but he was too tired to care. He fell asleep slumped over his desk.

 

As soon as the hour was decent the next morning, Pythagoras tapped on Daedalus’ door. His other hand carried the letter containing the proof.

Daedalus jerked the door open. “What?!” he demanded. “Oh, it’s you. You can come in. I’ll show you my latest creation. Don’t touch anything!”

Pythagoras, familiar with the inventor’s abrupt manner, simply followed, threading his way cautiously through the inventor’s workshop. He had always found the place truly wondrous. Every table, chair, and shelf held a conglomeration of fascinating contraptions in various stages of assembly. A few projects even hung from the ceiling. The cacophony of shapes and colors in wood, metal, glass, fabric, and clay seemed almost designed to bewilder the eye.

At the back of the workshop, an incomplete project sat on a pedestal. It appeared similar to a sundial, but more sophisticated and more delicate. In response to Pythagoras’ inquisitive glance, Daedalus proclaimed, “It’s a moondial! When this is finished we will be able to tell the hour at night as well as during the day, based on the position of the moon!” 

Pythagoras listened raptly as Daedalus explained the complex mathematics involved in accounting for the constantly changing position and phases of the moon. “This is wonderful!” he exclaimed. “Would you like some assistance finishing it? I think I can see a way to simplify the calculations…”

“No, I don’t need anyone’s help!” Daedalus barked. “What I need is to get back to it and concentrate without interruption!”

“Before you do that,” Pythagoras put in quickly, “I’d like to show you something too. I made a breakthrough yesterday and finished that proof I told you about –“

“Why did you bother? That idea has no practical applications whatsoever and is therefore useless.” Daedalus didn’t even look at him.

That stung, but Pythagoras persisted. “I’ve made significant changes –“

“If that’s all you can talk about this morning, you can just go now. I have work to do.” 

Pythagoras’ azure eyes narrowed. “Fine, I will!” he snapped, and stalked out of the workshop. He did resist the impulse to slam the door behind him.

 

Once outside, Pythagoras took a deep breath and advised himself, “He’s just being Daedalus… He’s like this all the time…” After all that had happened yesterday, however, the words rang hollow in his ears. 

The door behind him opened again. “Pythagoras, wait!” a familiar voice called.

Pythagoras blinked his watery vision back into focus. “Icarus!” he replied in delighted surprise. Daedalus’ son was nearly as close a friend as Jason and Hercules. “I didn’t know you were back from Athens!” 

“I just got back last night. It’s good to see you, my friend.” Icarus’ dark eyes shone as he embraced Pythagoras.

“It’s good to see you too!” Pythagoras returned the embrace.

“Listen, I heard what my father said to you,” Icarus told him. “Don’t take it to heart. He’s in full inventor mode and being even ruder than usual to everyone. The fact that he actually showed you that ‘moondial’ of his says how highly he regards you. He would have slammed the door in anyone else’s face.”

“Thanks, Icarus.” Pythagoras tried to smile.

Icarus pointed at the scroll in Pythagoras’ hand. “Is that the proof?”

“Yes.”

“May I read it?”

“You really want to?”

“Of course.”

“All right, then. How about we just sit on the steps here? I don’t think it’s safe to go back in there right now.” Pythagoras gestured toward the doorway to the workshop.

Icarus laughed. “Probably not.”

“Tell me about your trip to Athens. What was the occasion?”

“My father sent me to get him some special high quality Athenian beeswax.”

“He sent you all the way to Athens for that?”

“He knows I love travelling, and he sometimes exploits it. I also suspect he wanted me out of the way while he finished that commission he had.”

“Why beeswax?”

Icarus shrugged. “It’s for yet another of his inventions. He said it would seal the whole thing together.”

“How unusual. What is the invention?”

“I chose not to ask.”

“Ah. Knowing your father, that’s probably wise.”

The two of them sat, and Pythagoras fidgeted as Icarus read the proof. He wasn’t sure what his friend’s reaction would be. If Icarus too thought it was worthless - 

“This is really good!” Icarus exclaimed. “You’ve found an entirely new way to prove Anaximander’s theory, and your writing is making it easy to follow.” Icarus smiled. “You told my father that it was a breakthrough, and it is. His refusal to read it is his loss. When I’m done reading, I am taking you straight to the library, and you are giving them this.”

Pythagoras regarded his friend with gratitude.

 

Feodras the head librarian thanked him as he accepted the proof, but Pythagoras noticed that his smile did not reach his eyes. “This is what, the third scroll you have donated to the library?”

“The fourth, actually,” Pythagoras replied.

“Of course.” Feodras still wore that smile that left his eyes cold. “Thank you again. I will add this to our collection.” 

“Let’s go find your other scrolls,” Icarus suggested. Pythagoras nodded. “Could you please show us where they are?” Icarus asked Feodras.

The librarian hesitated fractionally, but then said, “Right this way.” 

He led the two friends to the far corner of the library, where a sad, disorganized, and poorly lit set of shelves stood, labeled ‘Foreign Science and Mathematics’.

“Why is my work filed here?” Pythagoras asked in dismay.

“Well, you’ve said you’re from Samos. You have a touch of a Samian accent, and your handwriting shows the kind of Phoenician influence found on Samos. Most importantly, the mathematics itself is clearly foreign. It’s nothing like what’s happening in the field here.”

“What?!” Pythagoras choked. “You know me! I’ve lived here for many years! Atlantis is my home! The mathematics isn’t foreign either! It’s based on the theories of -”

“I’m not here to argue, just to run the library,” Feodras interrupted.

“Then I’d like to ask a different question,” Icarus put in with apparent mildness. “Are the works of Daedalus in this section too?” 

“Oh, no,” Feodras answered. “Those are under Atlantean scientific scholarship.”  
“That’s funny. He’s originally from Crete, and his theories aren’t anything like any other scientists’. Shouldn’t they be here?” Icarus asked innocently.

“You misunderstand.” Feodras sighed and looked put-upon. “The truth is we receive many more texts than we have space for. We have to give priority to the ones that people will most want to borrow. Your father’s brilliant reputation means his works are in demand. Obscure writings like your friend’s must go where we can place them.” He then seemed to remember that Pythagoras was there. “Don’t worry. There are probably Atlanteans with an interest in Samian-Phoenician mathematics. You haven’t wasted your time.”

Pythagoras gaped, too stricken to answer.

“Come on, Pythagoras,” Icarus urged. “Let’s go.” 

 

The walk home went by in a blur of pain. Those dim, forgotten shelves in the back of the library looked like no one had done more than simply dump miscellaneous scrolls there in years. For all practical purposes, the mathematical theories Pythagoras had poured his heart into were never going to see the light of day. He’d been rejected and stymied now both as a healer and as a mathematician. What kind of a future did he have now?

Suddenly Icarus was pressing him into a familiar chair, and Pythagoras realized he was home. Icarus sat next to him. “I can tell you’re discouraged,” he said. “Living with my father, I understand. The key is not to let it get to you. What you’ve done is brilliant, and Feodras is a condescending little bureaucrat who has no idea what he really has in his library. He’s forever currying favor with the rich and titled hoping for patronage and to raise his own status. He doesn’t understand true worth. One day, your work is going to be recognized.”

“Is it?” Pythagoras replied bleakly. “There doesn’t seem to be any place for me here. What I can do is not valued. Maybe I should just leave Atlantis and go back to Samos. Maybe there I can be of some value.”

“But then who’d extract Hercules and Jason from all the trouble they get into?”

A hint of a smile transited Pythagoras’ lips, but then he said with a bitter tinge, “Hercules and Jason would be perfectly fine without me.” 

Icarus’ attempted levity evaporated. “There’s more to all this, isn’t there?”

Pythagoras tried to shake off his emotions. “It’s not important. I’ve just had a couple of disappointments.”

“If whatever has happened is enough to make you contemplate leaving Atlantis and all your friends, then it is important.” 

“I didn’t really mean that.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Pythagoras suddenly felt too exhausted and dispirited to resist Icarus’ prodding anymore, and he found himself starting to talk. 

When he finished telling Icarus everything, Pythagoras felt his friend’s gentle hand on his back. “I understand,” Icarus said. “Listen. This isn’t the end of all your dreams, and all your devotion to your studies hasn’t been in vain. You just need a new angle for it, and if there’s anyone who can find new angles, it’s you!”

“What new angle could there possibly be?” 

“I know who can help you find one.”

 

The Oracle looked expectant as Pythagoras followed Icarus into her audience chamber far in the depths of the Temple of Poseidon. “You have questions for me?” she prompted.

Pythagoras steadied himself. “Yes,” he said. “For years I’ve wanted more than anything to become a mathematician and a healer, and it seems all my efforts are coming to nothing. I keep getting rejected, and… I don’t know what to do. How can I salvage my dreams?”

The Oracle studied him for a moment in the dim torchlight. Then she added some herbs to the large bowl of sanctified water in which she saw her visions, and bending low to the bowl’s rim, she began to chant an ancient prayer.

Pythagoras waited, feeling his heartbeat thrumming. 

Eventually the Oracle spoke. “Your destiny does not lie with your dreams.”

Cold horror swept through Pythagoras’ chest. His breath must have caught audibly, because Icarus’ bracing hand clasped his shoulder.

The Oracle gazed back into her bowl. “Your destiny does not lie with your dreams,” she repeated, “but with your friends. You will need each other, again and again.” She met his eyes. “You must give up your dreams as you envision them. The more you cling to them, the more your heart will break, and eventually harden against the world.” 

“Give up my life’s whole purpose?” Pythagoras breathed. “How do I live with that?”

The Oracle shook her head. “No, Pythagoras. You must give up the particular form you envision your dreams taking. You will not become a healer, yet you will heal many. Is that not the true wish behind your ambition?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot see clearly what will transpire regarding your mathematics, only that there will be a great deal of time involved. Yet if you attend to your friends, it will not be wasted time.”

“Without my dreams, how can my time not be a waste?”

The Oracle smiled kindly. “Whenever you do even the smallest good in this world, it is never a waste.”

“I wish I could think that way.”

“You can.”

“How?”

“Trust your friends, Pythagoras. That’s what you need to do.” As she spoke, the Oracle’s eyes focused on Icarus. He, roused from contemplation, caught her look. His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.

Pythagoras perceived a note of dismissal in the Oracle’s voice, so he replied, “Thank you, Oracle.” He and Icarus turned to leave.

“Are you feeling any better?” Icarus asked as they emerged into the daylight.

“Not really.” Actually Pythagoras was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. He would have to take extra care coming down the Temple stairs until it passed. 

Icarus regarded him appraisingly. Pythagoras’ stomach then chose that moment to growl loudly. Icarus frowned. “When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

Pythagoras blushed. “Early yesterday morning,” he admitted. Since then he’d been alternating between too busy and too upset to think about eating. 

“Then I have two ideas to help you,” Icarus declared. “First, I’m treating you to lunch.” 

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you. What’s your other idea?”

Icarus’ expression turned impish. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

Pythagoras rolled his eyes. “Okay, but only because the Oracle said to,” he retorted.

 

Pythagoras woke early the next morning to the sound of someone pounding on the door. When he answered it, a young messenger asked, “Are you Pythagoras?” He nodded, and the child handed him a note, saying, “This is from Daedalus. He says it’s urgent.” The child then scampered off before Pythagoras could reply.

In typical Daedalus fashion, the message was terse and utilitarian: “Come to my workshop. I need your help.”

Alarmed, Pythagoras seized his satchel of medical supplies and sped to Daedalus’ home.

The grizzled inventor greeted him with, “Ah. You’re here.”

“I came as quickly as I could,” Pythagoras replied. “Are you all right, you and Icarus?”

Daedalus looked confused at the question. “Of course.” He gestured toward Pythagoras’ medical bag. “What did you bring that for?”

“From your message I thought one of you might be ill or injured.”

“No, no, we’re both fine. I’ve sent Icarus to Corinth on an errand. He just left a few minutes ago.”

“Then you don’t need medical help?”

“No, I meant something else entirely.”

“The moondial?”

Daedalus hesitated, but then said, “Yes.”

Pythagoras grinned. “Then I’d be happy to assist.”

“Good. Come over here.”

Pythagoras let Daedalus lead him over to a cabinet against the wall at one end of the workshop. The inventor opened it to reveal dozens of haphazardly placed glass jars and vials, small wooden boxes, and clay vessels of assorted shapes. “This cabinet is a mess,” Daedalus said. “What I’d like you to do is organize all these chemicals and supplies in alphabetical order.”

“I thought you wanted help with the moondial.”

“I do. But I need this done first.”

Pythagoras shrugged. “All right.” He put his medical bag down as Daedalus shuffled off. 

Pythagoras then looked closer at the cabinet. Daedalus hadn’t been kidding when he said it was a mess. A number of the containers were unlabeled, and others were barely legible. Some of the glass containers stood empty. When Pythagoras lifted the first jar, it peeled off the shelf with a crackling sound, sticky with unidentifiable spillage. “Great,” he muttered to himself. He’d have to clean the whole cabinet first. His nose wrinkled as an acrid smell reached him. This was going to be worse than washing Hercules’ laundry.

 

Eventually Pythagoras finished the task. He found Daedalus sitting at his work table reading something that he hastily rolled up as Pythagoras approached.

“You’re done?” the inventor asked. He quickly evaluated Pythagoras’ work and said, nodding, “Not bad, not bad. Next I’d like you to rearrange all these jars and things and group them by what they are used for.”

“What? You said you wanted them alphabetical.”

“Yes. Now I’d like them categorized by purpose. You know, cooking herbs, medicines, compounds for scientific experiments…”

Pythagoras sighed. “All right, Daedalus.”

He decided to start by making sure everything was labeled properly. It would make categorizing easier and later usage of the contents safer. He would also throw out anything that had gone rancid, then clean the empty vessels and shift them to the lowest shelf, and rearrange the rest as his friend had instructed. He sincerely hoped it would go more quickly this time. 

 

It didn’t. By the time he finished, Pythagoras was truly tired, his shoulders felt stiff, and a slow headache had formed between his eyes. He got up and stretched, then realized that Daedalus had appeared right behind him. 

“I see you’ve finished,” the inventor said. “Good.” He examined the cabinet thoughtfully, then announced, “I’ve changed my mind. Would you rearrange everything again -”

“Oh, no.” Pythagoras passed a hand across his brow.

“Oh, yes.” Daedalus looked quite serious.

Pythagoras’ exasperation flared. “No! Daedalus, I’m here because you said you wanted my assistance with your moondial. I’ve just spent hours doing this twice for you instead. That’s enough. I’m tired, and I’m going home now.”

“All right, then. Come on back in a couple of hours. These compounds ought to be arranged by color.”

“By color?! What purpose could arranging them by color possibly serve?”

Daedalus reacted with a snort. “Finally! It’s about time you started asking questions!”  
“What?”

“You’ve been far too compliant! Too much of a follower! If you want to make a difference, you need to be an innovator!” Daedalus held up the scroll he’d been reading earlier. “I read your proof.”

Pythagoras’ heart leapt. “You did?”

“Yes. Icarus brought it from the library yesterday and badgered me about it mercilessly. He refused to go to Corinth for me unless I read it.”

Pythagoras smiled, and made a mental note to thank Icarus when he returned.

“Your mathematics is sound,” Daedalus continued. “Your logic is solid. But as long as your work is so dependent on Anaximander’s or Thales’ or anyone else’s, you’re never going to get anywhere as a mathematician. You need to think for yourself, look at things from different perspectives, pursue your own ideas!”

Coming from Daedalus, this was quite complimentary. “Thank you,” Pythagoras replied.

“Get out of here now,” Daedalus told him. “Come back tomorrow. I have a geometrical problem you ought to find interesting.”

 

The next morning came, overcast, windy, and dim. Daedalus led Pythagoras outside to the garden behind the workshop, and indicated a large patch of recently cleared ground. “I’ve decided to grow acanthus,” the inventor declared. “My supplier and I had a difference of opinion about its medicinal merits. The roots make a good poultice for burns and dislocated joints, but using an infusion from the leaves as a diuretic is pure nonsense. When I told her this, she refused to sell to me anymore. Therefore I’ll get it myself. The best acanthus, the kind with the spikier leaves, comes from Corinth, so I’ve sent Icarus there to get some seeds, as well as some other things for my inventions. It’s just the right time of year to plant them.”

“So what’s the geometrical problem?” Pythagoras asked.

“Acanthus needs a lot of water,” Daedalus replied, “but it also needs well drained soil. I want to create an irrigation channel going from the well through the acanthus patch and out again. The problem is exactly how the landscaping will work. The water ordinarily flows the wrong way. I need your help to find the right position and angles for the water channel.”

“This is more a spatial and practical problem than a mathematical one. Wouldn’t Icarus be better suited for the task?” Just then a raindrop splashed onto Pythagoras’ nose. “It’s also starting to rain,” he added. “We should go inside.”

Daedalus disagreed. “No, this is good. If it’s raining, it’s the perfect time to see how best to direct the water flow.”

“Daedalus, being out in the rain isn’t a good idea, and Icarus would be better able to help you. He has an eye for these things -“

“Icarus isn’t here. Just look for where the water is forming gullies.” With that the inventor turned and headed inside.

Pythagoras stared in disbelief and rising anger. He knew Daedalus could be selfish sometimes, but it was an abuse of Pythagoras’ friendship to try to use him for free labor like this. He wasn’t staying here one minute longer. The intensifying rain was soaking through his clothing and getting into his eyes, and he’d begun to shiver.

Suddenly the memory of the Oracle’s words stopped him: “Trust your friends, Pythagoras. That’s what you need to do.” 

He froze. Could this exasperating mess be what she had meant? Pythagoras couldn’t begin to fathom how it might happen, but if irrigating his friend’s acanthus plants could somehow show him a way to salvage his battered dreams and self-worth, he would force himself to do it.

He began to study how the rain water was flowing through the garden. The more he looked at it, the more impractical channeling water from the well appeared. He threw his head back in frustration – and noticed the water cascading off the corner of the roof of the small storage building next to the house. Daedalus had said he needed to look at things from different perspectives. Maybe if he got up on the roof he would see an irrigation path. 

Pythagoras peeked inside the storage building. It was even more chaotic than the workshop, which a moment ago he might have deemed impossible. The roof also had a leak; rain was spilling onto the center of the floor. Pythagoras then spotted a ladder. As he went to borrow it, he observed some spare clay roof tiles on one of the shelves. He might as well take them up with him and fix the leak before it ruined his friend’s… belongings.

Soon Pythagoras was up on the roof, trying to ignore how cold and drenched he was getting. At least fixing the leak proved a straightforward task. He had a few tiles remaining.

He turned his attention to the rain water streaming down from the corner of the roof. From here he could see it flowing near, but not quite into, the proposed acanthus patch. Pythagoras’ mathematical mind went into some estimations and calculations. If he could divert the water to the adjacent corner instead, the runoff ought to go just where Daedalus needed it to! Pythagoras crawled to the other end of the roof. He held the tiles against the edge for a few moments to test his hypothesis, and it worked. Soon he had the extra tiles affixed to the roof. The gully beginning to form below would now water Daedalus’ acanthus every time it rained, without any channels having to be dug or water hauled from the well. Grinning, Pythagoras clambered back down the ladder and returned it to the storage building.

 

Pythagoras splashed his way back into the workshop. Daedalus looked up and chided, “Don’t get anything wet!” He then indicated the moondial. “But look! It’s finished!” 

Pythagoras looked. His friend’s creation was both scientifically fascinating and a work of art. “It’s marvelous!” he said, and meant it. He couldn’t help asking though, “Why did you say you wanted my help with it if you really didn’t?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Daedalus returned, once more fussing with his invention. “You did help me with it. Your doing those chores freed me up to work on it!” 

“Oh, great.” 

Daedalus shrugged. “What you did was what I needed. So, I take it you found a way to make an irrigation channel for the acanthus?”

“Yes. I took your advice and looked at the problem from a new perspective. I actually found an easier way than getting the water from the well.” Pythagoras then described what he had done. 

Daedalus’ eyebrows rose. “Now that’s the sort of thing you should be doing! Innovative thinking! With practical applications! Use your potential! Come this way back over here.” He led Pythagoras back over to the cabinet full of jars and vessels that he had rearranged. Before Pythagoras could protest, Daedalus continued, “You organized these yesterday in ways that I chose. Now, how would you do it?”

“Arrange these for you, or arrange a hypothetical cabinet of my own?”

“Hmm, both.”

Pythagoras considered. “For you and the way you work, I’d arrange them by frequency of use. Then you’d have what you’re most likely to need readily at hand. If I had a cabinet like this, I think I’d go back to alphabetical. That way if I needed Jason’s or Hercules’ assistance with something, they’d be able to locate the right ingredients.”

Daedalus nodded. “Frequency of use; I like that idea. Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself later. I’m impressed. Whatever you just did outside, start applying it to your mathematics! Forget Anaximander. Forget Thales. Do things that are yours. You should find yourself an original mathematical project. And then another, and another.” 

“I will. And thank you, Daedalus.”

Daedalus grunted. “Go home now and clean yourself up before you catch a chill.”

 

Some days later, a knock at the door startled Pythagoras out of his mathematics. He answered it to find that Icarus had returned from Corinth. The two greeted each other warmly, then sat together in the main room of the house with a hastily prepared lunch.

“How was your journey?” Pythagoras asked.

“Rather uneventful, except for a bit of trouble negotiating for acanthus seeds. The first merchant I spoke with was from somewhere far across the sea. I couldn’t understand a word he said, and I doubt he understood me any better. The second tried to tell me that they’d had a bad season and there was a shortage, so the price was much higher, but I knew this wasn’t true. Finally I did find another merchant who was honest.” Icarus smiled. “You seem to be feeling better.” 

“Yes, thanks to your father, and the Oracle, and, I suspect, to you.”

“What gave you that idea?” Icarus asked a bit too innocently.

Pythagoras gave him a knowing look. “Your father said you’d persuaded him to read my proof, by making it a condition of your undertaking his errand. That suggests that you put him up to giving me some pointed lessons while you were gone.”

“All right, I did tell him what you were going through and asked him to help you.”

“Thank you, Icarus. You’re a good friend.”

“What exactly did he do?”

Pythagoras recounted rearranging the jars in Daedalus’ cabinet and finding a way to irrigate his acanthus patch. “And then,” he continued, “I thought a lot about what he said, and also what the Oracle said. She said I don’t have to give up my dreams completely, just the form I’ve wanted them to take. I figured I should think through how to boil them down to the essentials, and try to find innovative ways to achieve what’s most important about them, starting right where I am and as I am. Healing is far more important to me than having the position of a healer, and unlocking the beauty and meaning of numbers and shapes and sharing it with others is more important than having my name known as a mathematician. And if Feodras at the Atlantis library is determined to marginalize my work, I’ll find other places. Like the acanthus, I need to try to grow where my roots are. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll end up opening my own school and help others to reach their dreams.”

“That is excellent news, my friend.”

“May I show you my new projects?”

“Absolutely!”

“The first is medical. I’m investigating the possibilities of an infusion of valerian root, tarragon, and saffron.”

“Valerian root is a muscle relaxant, saffron is for improving vision, and tarragon is said to cure snakebites… are you trying to find a cure for Medusa’s curse?”

“Yes. She is the person I know who needs healing the most. We mustn’t tell Hercules, though, not yet. I’m not at all sure this experiment will work. Still, it is an avenue I can pursue, and I promised him I would do everything I could.” 

“I hope it will work.”

“Me too. The other thing I’m doing is mathematical. I’ve decided to branch out from studying triangles and also look at their relationships to other geometrical shapes. For instance, two same-size equilateral triangles put together will create a rhombus, and three will create a trapezoid. I couldn’t find any previous writings on this. Hopefully there can be useful applications for builders and sculptors.”

“Splendid!”

 

Pythagoras had fallen asleep over his developing equations when Jason and Hercules stumbled home. Both his friends looked rather the worse for wear from their mission to Delium, covered in cuts and bruises and scrapes. They also looked surprised to see him.

“Pythagoras!” Jason said. “We thought you’d be with Ixidor. How is your apprenticeship going?”

“I didn’t get it. And that has turned out to be a good thing.”

“What?”

“Ixidor said I’m too old to start an apprenticeship and sent me away. So I’m turning my ambitions in another direction. Anyway, I can see that you two had an eventful journey. Sit down and let me look at those wounds.”

“It’s nothing,” Hercules assured him. “Just some minor –“ 

“Hercules,” Pythagoras interrupted with his best no-nonsense glare.

“He’s giving you the look, Hercules. Let him see for himself that it’s nothing,” Jason counseled as he sat down.

“Thank you, Jason.” Pythagoras gathered bandages and poultice ingredients, and as he began working, he prompted, “So tell me what happened.”

Jason grimaced. “Well, we got the incense to the temple, but we nearly didn’t get it past the pirates from the coast. Hercules was right. They were vicious. If it weren’t for that Kratos guy, a couple of the people with us wouldn’t have survived.”

“He did know his stuff. You’ve got to admit that,” Hercules put in sourly.

“Yes. He was an effective healer, and a good fighter against the pirates, but he was also a complete and total jerk.”

Hercules growled. “I tried to talk to him about how to cure Medusa, and the supercilious rat had the nerve to say that she deserved to be punished by the gods for messing with Pandora’s Box!”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Hercules,” Pythagoras sympathized. “We all know he’s dead wrong.”

“He also treated me like an idiot because I didn’t understand a couple of his allusions and idioms,” Jason added.

“He managed to insult and antagonize everyone in the caravan!” Hercules exclaimed. “Even those who owed him their lives were glad to see the last of him when we were done!”

“Well, now you’re home, and you can relax and forget all about him,” Pythagoras soothed. “There! It looks like both of you only have shallow wounds, and nothing looks infected. You’ll be fine.” He began putting his supplies away.

“Good. Now, I’m starving! What have we got for supper?” Hercules asked.

“That’s more like it,” Pythagoras declared. “We’ve got some lentils, leeks, carrots, and coriander, and a little dried goat meat. I’ll make a stew.”

Hercules brightened. “My favorite! That’s exactly what I need!”

“Any stew is your favorite!” Jason joked, “But it sounds good to me too. Pythagoras, what happened with you? You’d had your heart set on getting that apprenticeship. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’ve found something even better: clearer priorities and new mathematical work. Daedalus and Icarus and the Oracle helped me see things from a new perspective and focus on innovation.”

“I’m glad to hear that, even if I don’t quite understand.”

“He probably means he’s working on a different type of triangle,” Hercules remarked.

“Rhombuses and trapezoids, actually,” Pythagoras corrected. “It’s very interesting -!”

“No, it isn’t!” Hercules cut him off. “No chattering about mathematics when we’ve got a stew to make!”

“We’re just glad that you’re happy,” Jason said. 

“Thank you.” Pythagoras smiled. “I’ll go get the stew pot.”


End file.
